


A sort of life

by Nejllik



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejllik/pseuds/Nejllik
Summary: I'm trying out writing the darker sides of life. Tell me what you think. c:also i haven't proof read this





	A sort of life

In a great vast world, there are many sorts of places. There are cleanly, saintly places that fulfill the soul with meaning and dignity. There are scenery and art that surely mimic the heaven that would exist. But where there is light, there is shadow, and when you live in the shadow, the light grows brighter. And as the light grows brighter, so does desire to be with that light.

Such was the case for Jackson, a young orphan boy at an early age of 11. He, indeed, lived in the darkest of the shadows with the grossest of beasts. Stuffed away in the tall brick walls of the city, people and trash littered on the street were comparable. Sun baked arms of skin and bones extended towards the cars that passed by, hundreds of children cried to their sick and dying mothers, and men walked away from family left and right. Death was a common fate, so common that it was no longer viewed by the diseased as unfortunate. Instead, it was a relief, for to survive was too taxing of a duty for any normal poor mind to handle.

For a child to die, it not only meant a loss for the mother, but a loss for the slave hunters. The hunters were the one that searched the streets, looking for pretty eyes, aligned faces, waiting for their next haul of money. Only pieces of rumors spoke of what happened to the children torn away from their families, and all pieces whispered different stories, for there were many. All had one commonality; abuse.

There was one special type of abuse often practiced, an abuse of children that occurred on dirty sheets in dark rooms. In one of these homes was where Jackson dwelled, tossed without care onto the foots of fat men with judging eyes, glaring down at the new shipment. Two other children were stumbling besides Jackson, white from deprivation and sick with grief. Still, through the empty skin and the caked dirt, the old men could see that two of these children may be worth his while. First, a girl with light brown hair and dark green eyes; her delicate features showed even through her filthy state, and her looks would bring her demise. The second was Jackson, a black haired boy with calm golden brown eyes that studied the man as he did the boy. The third, scrawny boy would be tossed to the lower levels of abuse, the ones that had no rules or regulations.

The recruits were led to baths, where some workers tossed them in carefully as to not bruise the soon-to-be expensive objects. Scrubs aggressively attacked the dirt and dead skin, peeling back to expose the raw and smooth skin underneath. Shampoo and soap spilled onto hair in large amounts, pressed deeply into the scalp, and caressed once and again to remove residue dust and sweat.

Then the two were tossed some white clothes that only covered half the body, and both were pushed out the baths and into a dark room with real beds. Real beds, Jackson and the girl were left to marvel. There were other children in the room, lively and chatting, some even smiling as they spoke. All had flesh, some plump and others healthily thin. It was a miracle to the two newcomers, that this many children would have enough food to keep healthy.

The room had gone quiet upon entering, and the children now looked towards Jackson and the girl, and the eyes all began to pressure down on the two children with uneasy silence. Under the judgement and unfriendly curiosity, the girl sought out shelter behind the one who was tossed here besides her; an unspoken start of friendship. Unlike the girl, Jackson was more observing. The gazes were neither hostile nor dangerous; these children would not be cruel like the hungry ones on the streets. So, with a careful and contemplating confidence, Jackson took a step forward to them, a small and barely evident smile forming on his slender lips. He didn't say anything yet, but his show of friendliness quickly spread through the other children, and some turned back towards their own life while others nodded in greeting.

One especially social one even approached him, their keen eyes picking up on Jackson's lack of shyness. "Where'd you come from?" He spoke in English. Lost for the words he didn't know how to speak, Jackson looked up at the boy and muttered a quiet phrase of disapproval in his own language.

"Oh." The boy blinked, and spoke again in Spanish. "How'd you get here?"

"From the slums, any different for you?" Jackson replied, his inclination to the switch in languages not showing.

"No, we pretty much all come from there." The boy gave a laugh that Jackson couldn't understand; was there something to laugh about here?

"I'm called Taffy," He introduced, and for a moment his smile dropped. It was then that the features of this boy became evident to Jackson; this boy was pretty as well, but in a different way then usual. Instead of stunning, the boy had a look that seemed to yearn for help. Wide, dropping eyes, thin and down lips; by the looks of the children around here and the treatment, Jackson figured quickly what type of place this was and why the slaves were in such good condition.

"I'm Jackson." He played along, and their conversations carried on about trivial things of his background. It was only when the kid began to mention the place they stayed that Jackson's interest began to raise, and the fruits of the talk began to ripen.

"You're lucky that you ended up here, y'know?" Taffy said as a smile brought his looks back that of an average boy, "They might make you work a lot, but you get food, shelter, and baths."

"That's right, and you can speak freely, as long as you do your work." Another boy to the side said, faced towards the wall. "And the work's not too bad... once you get use to it."

Eyes travelling, Jackson observed many things: the clean clothes, the color in their cheeks, the fat that hung to their arms. Still, he didn't catch the madness that traveled beneath them; their twisted nature that had bundled up from their years trapped. Maybe, quite possibly, that was because Jackson had the same madness in himself. This madness was the one that would do anything, without shame or conscious, to live and continue.

But still, Jackson's madness was different. His was wiser, and much more planning. He would do anything to live and continue, but he wouldn't stand around and let the fat men decide whether he would be worth keeping or not. He would play his part, watch and watch, and look for any opening a life where he held power.

It was this power that he dreamt of when he laid down on his new bed. It was his desires that kept his smile brightening up his face. It was his dreams that kept himself by the side of the stranger as he entered a dim, empty room.

And it was madness that repeated the cycle.

Days passed, and no worthy opportunities showed up. The children really were put to work, Jackson noted. From lessons on how to please to several excessive, the children were trained and reprimanded strictly. Tests occurred every few weeks, where frowning men would watch the work, the expressions, the movements. After several tests, a child would be dragged out of line from the others and dragged down hallways; back to the land without rules and regulations. There, they could be scared, beaten, bruised, and murdered; a fact that stayed fresh on Jackson's mind at all times.

Then, his opportunity came; it was time to take his next step up the ladder.


End file.
